


The Fall

by wordswehavesaid



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Also Please Do Not Read if that is Triggering, Do Not Read if You had No Problems with s4, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Team Arrow Friendly, Post-Schism, no seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswehavesaid/pseuds/wordswehavesaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“It’s been a little over a month since a nuclear missile impacted on American soil. The death toll is in the tens of thousands and a perimeter exists miles wide all around a crater that used to be a town. The question on everyone’s mind is: What happens now? What does a post-Havenrock world look like?”</em>
</p><p>The AU where there's consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I've been sitting on this idea for several months and finally worked up the nerve to write it. Hate it all you want, but it's not my fault the show has seemingly permanently parted ways with reality. What is contained in this story is what I feel would be only the logical follow-up to the events that occurred in the last few episodes, particularly "Monument Point". Again, if you feel the show did a perfectly fine job handling it, this is not the story for you. 
> 
> For all the rest who do choose to read this, I sincerely hope that you enjoy my take at the very least.

_“It’s been a little over a month since a nuclear missile impacted on American soil. The death toll is in the tens of thousands and a perimeter exists miles wide all around a crater that used to be a town. The question on everyone’s mind is: What happens now? What does a post-Havenrock world look like?”_

_“No further word yet from the Pentagon or the FBI, though the Bureau assures us it is continuing its investigation after questions were raised. ‘Hashtag’ RememberHavenrock is trending once again on Twitter as protestors of nuclear proliferation gather in the thousands along FEMA’s perimeter. This is highly reminiscent of the aftermath of Central City’s Particle Accelerator explosion, on a much larger scale, and we have yet to see if this movement will fizzle out as well. The protestors are setting up camp and many have confirmed that they plan to stay—quote—‘as long as it takes to get things done’.”_

_“Let’s make no mistake. This. Was. An. Attack. We know it was the Russians, we know it could’ve been anyone. America is not safe. North Korea has nukes. We have given the Iranians nukes. Terrorists could get hold of nuclear weapons. The Russians have already hit us. What sort of message does this send to our enemies?”  
“See, this is why MAD was so important. If we get hit, we have to retaliate or we’re not a threat. But so far, our government has done nothing. Our missiles remain in their silos.”_

_“Why isn’t the Pentagon saying anything?”_

_“We have given a lot of money, a **huge** amount of money, to NATO. NATO would be nothing without us. But where is NATO now? We have been attacked, and NATO is standing by. They are doing nothing. I promise, when I become president, I will demand action. I will demand answers. And I will stop the spending of millions of American dollars on the useless organization of NATO.”_

_“This administration may be afraid to say its name, but we will not let the people forget. We are not afraid to say it. Havenrock, Havenrock, Havenrock.”_

_“Our special guest, here to talk about an issue that weighs heavily on the minds of all Americans.”_

_“Thank you, thank you for having me. Many Americans thought, myself included, that we would not see a disaster worse than 9/11 in our lifetime. Clearly, we were wrong. Now there is much to say about the lives that were lost, much has already been said. What I wanted to talk about, however, are the lives still at risk. I’m talking, of course, about the thousands of police, firefighters, and volunteers who have entered the former town of Havenrock, risking irradiation, risking their very lives to help contain the damage and begin the long process of rescue and rebuilding. Politicians on both sides of the aisle have been very vocal in the last several weeks about Havenrock, but my question is: when the dust settles, what will become of these first responders? Will Congress simply forget about them and abandon them in their time of need further down the line the same way as they did the 9/11 responders?”_

_“Anonymous sources from inside the Pentagon have confirmed that the trajectory of the missile changed direction mid-air. Who redirected the missile? And was Havenrock deliberately targeted? Our report after these messages.”_

\---

“Director Michaels, I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation we now face.”

“I assure you I do, ma’am,” Lyla replied, respectfully as she could.

Down a very long, wooden table, the Secretaries of Homeland Security and Defense exchanged a glance.

“Really? Tens of thousands of Americans are dead, countless more have been irradiated, there has been mass panic, lootings, and protests across the country,” the head of Homeland spoke, enunciating very clearly as though he suspected her of being unaware of these facts. Of course she knew the death toll, the havoc that it had seeded, she had been the one to confirm the hit to Havenrock. And it _could_ have been millions, Lyla wanted to say, just as she told herself lying in a bed that was cold and half-empty every night. It could have been so much worse.

Perhaps, naively, she thought that ought to make a difference.

“This administration’s approval rating is at a record low in the history of the United States. The Senate is preparing to conduct a hearing based on the findings of the Bureau – and yet A.R.G.U.S. has not complied fully with the investigation.”

Her jaw tightened. She knew what they wanted; the identities of her husband’s team. Former team. “I’ve told the Bureau already, I have provided all necessary information. My operatives—”

“Civilian operatives, we’re given to understand,” the Defense secretary interjected, her mouth set in a deep frown. “Operatives who did not have the clearance, nor the authority, to handle classified information such as Rubicon or be trusted with this country’s national defense.”

“We were given clearance by the Commander in Chief,” she reminded.

“I want you to think over that claim very carefully, Director Michaels. Americans are already disillusioned with the way the government has handled classified information in certain recent crises,” the woman stated carefully, dark eyes saying more than her words. “If it were to get out the President was aware that our missile defense had been entrusted to a wanted cybercriminal and a handful of rogue vigilantes, the public outcry would be severe.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgment of this fact. Everyone in the room was tense at the very suggestion of the trouble this presented. “Nevertheless that is what the Bureau will find in their investigation.”

“So there is a written confirmation of the President’s agreement to your organization’s plan?” The Secretary of Homeland Security asked in a way that very much indicated he already knew the answer.

And suddenly all the pieces fell into place. “No, sir.”

“So what you’re saying is, in actuality, the President could very well have been uninformed of how A.R.G.U.S. was handling the situation. There is no existing proof that he had any knowledge to the true extent of what was happening.”

Lyla recalled the tapes that had existed in the old office, Waller’s old office. Every phone call she hadn’t wanted to disappear, every moment of someone else’s accountability, had been recorded, had been evidence. The phones in the old office had been replaced. The bugs in the phones hadn’t.

She’d been too relaxed, buoyed by the support of everyone claiming she would clean up the other woman’s messes, to think about just what Amanda Waller had created those messes against.

“That is correct, sir. There is no proof.”

With proof, they would’ve all been hung. Without it, only one of them in this room was going to take the fall.

“Do you understand now the gravity of the situation, Director Michaels?” The Secretary of Defense was watching her closely, clearly looking for some sign of dissent.

But Lyla could only feel a sense of calm. “I do, ma’am.” There’d been signs, hadn’t there? The long Cabinet meetings, the lack of information available to the press, the standing gag order on Havenrock for the last month. And now this hasty summons to D.C.; they must have come to the conclusion of how to save face, how to keep the very foundations of this country’s government from crumbling, how to provide the perfect scapegoat: her.

“A.R.G.U.S. has fallen under the jurisdiction of the CIA and, pending a complete investigation, may be terminated,” announced the Secretary of Homeland Defense.

She nodded. “Am I to assume I won’t be returning to Headquarters?”

“Director Michaels,” said the Secretary of Defense, voice completely devoid of any of the grim humor she currently held, “you are under arrest.”

Lyla’s eyes closed, and it finally hit home now, what was to become of her. “I’ll need to call my husband to make arrangements.”

“That won’t be necessary,” replied the Secretary of Homeland Security. “He’s to be intercepted before his company is deployed.”

Intercepted? But no, not Johnny. Sara needed him.

“Mr. Secretary, I have a child—”

“Yes, and Child Services has been sent to collect her.”

Lyla just barely managed to stop herself from rising from her chair. “Mr. Secretary—”

“You and your husband were both compliant in a mission that resulted in tens of thousands of American casualties, the highest number from one incident in history, Michaels.”  SecDef spoke over her in a harsh tone, leaving absolutely no room for argument. “The American people need to see someone held accountable. And you _are_ accountable, Michaels.”

They weren’t wrong. She knew that. She’d trusted American, human, _innocent_ lives to Johnny and the others—whether millions or tens of thousands—and they’d failed. She’d failed.

With no way of knowing how much her superiors had already learned from her files on Team Arrow, she had no idea how far this was going to go, just how many of them would be joining her in this crusade to show the people justice was being dealt. But the only one she could truly muster any fear, any concern for was her little baby. Lyla thought of Sara sitting in the bassinet she’d left with Carly and AJ just two nights ago. Had she kissed her goodbye, had she told her how much she loved her? She’d never get the chance again.

She was pulled up from her chair by two armed guards and forced to walk out the door, head hanging low and silent.

There was nothing left to say, no excuse left to be made. They all knew she was exactly what they said: guilty.

\---

“Diggle!”

He stopped, just about to step onto the aircraft, and turned. “Yes, sir.”

“Come with me,” the commander barked, and John quickly fell into step behind the other man. It had been deliriously easy to fall back into the rhythm of army life. After all this time, it still was his escape. Leaving Lyla and Sara back home had been hard, but staying would have been even harder. Most people wouldn’t think that entering into a fourth tour was the coward’s way out.

But most people weren’t running from the things John was running from. Most people didn’t carry this kind of guilt. And most people weren’t part of the ‘privileged’ few who knew what really happened to Havenrock.

He entered the commander’s office to find two other men standing there, large and imposing even to him. “Sir?”

“Major Diggle, your deployment has been terminated,” his commander said, stoic aside from the slightest hint of disgust in his tone.

He took a half step back. “I’m sorry? Sir?” John tacked on belatedly, eyes jumping between the officer and the two unnamed men.

It was one of them who spoke next. “Your involvement with the Star City vigilante. Your role in the Rubicon mission your wife took point on. Your involvement in the Havenrock disaster. You thought you could just run away from all that, all the consequences, _Major_?” His title fell from the other’s lips in a mocking tone.

“What’s happened to my wife?” John asked, voice trembling slightly. The stable ground he’d found out on this remote army base had shifted suddenly, and left him reeling. What was going on back home? Lyla, Sara—

“You might want to save your concern, Diggle,” spoke the second unknown man. “You’re being placed under arrest.”

“You can’t be serious,” he breathed. “We didn’t—it was Darhk who launched those damn missiles—”

“Tell that to the friends and family of the people who lived in Havenrock,” said the first man. “You act outside the law, you own up to the consequences.”

“Millions more people would have died!”

“No they wouldn’t have,” his commander interrupted impatiently. “Did you forget about missile defense as a civilian, Diggle? You think us, the Russians, and Europe couldn’t have shot all those things out of the sky? Christ, the Pentagon was telling us to hold off because _your wife_ said it was being handled!”

“Your vigilante team has left a trail of death and destruction in its wake for almost five years, Diggle,” said the more serious of the two unknown men, agents of some type he had to assume. “That’s not a system the American people can rely on, or trust.”

“You’ll be facing the costs of your actions in the light of day,” said the other, stepping up to him with a set of cuffs. “And it’ll probably be the last you see of it for a good long while.”

John’s fists were clenched as the cuffs snapped over his wrists, and he had to be prodded in the back once to get moving. He determinedly stared straight ahead, not daring to meet any of his fellow soldiers’ eyes as he was marched through the base to a waiting car.

Once shut in the back, the tinted windows blotted out the sun.

\---

Star City’s mayor stood at a podium, camera flashes periodically blinding his vision as he spoke words he had memorized but did not truly feel. He did not feel much of anything these days.

It had been over a month since Damien Darhk, since his team had all but disbanded, since…Laurel. And since he had failed in nearly all his endeavors, in nearly every way that counted.

He was constantly in the public eye, he ate enough to keep up appearances, and he barely slept. For when he closed his eyes he could see nothing but the faceless tens of thousands. Men, women, children. It plagued his nightmares and ate up every spare thought in his head; but the one person to whom he could possibly voice this to, he dared not. Felicity, he knew, did not wish to discuss Havenrock.

She was all that was left, prodding him to keep going through the motions like an old show dog or puppet with all the life and purpose of a reanimated corpse. It was his role as mayor that kept him from falling—this position he had won merely by default—one heavy step at a time. One role and routine during the day, one role and routine during the night. That’s all he was.

Oliver Queen was supposed to be a brother, a father. He was neither.

Oliver Queen was supposedly in love. He was empty.

Oliver Queen had pledged no longer to be a killer. He was one.

No more excuses, no more exceptions to the rule. He’d returned to Laurel’s grave time and again whenever he could slip away to try and explain himself, whether to her or to himself he couldn’t say. But he had killed Darhk, a powerless man, not to protect or to save.

The Green Arrow was no hero. He never had been, just playing pretend as Oliver was now in front of all these reporters and their cameras.

The doors at the back of the room were abruptly opened and a small group of people all dressed in black suits pushed past his largely ceremonial security.

“Can I help you?”

The woman at the front of the group stepped forward, her bronze skin glowing warmly in the light. But her tone was clipped as she held up her badge. “Yes, Mr. Queen. You can come quietly.”

Several stunned gasps and exclamations echoed around the room. Standing down on the floor, he saw Felicity with wide eyes and mouth agape.

Oliver held up his hands to placate the crowd. “Of course, anything to assist the Bureau.” He invited her to step up onto the raised dais with him, but couldn’t help some of his own surprise when she immediately took hold of his wrists, wrenching them behind his back and slapping on a pair of handcuffs. “Hey—”

“You’ve been implicated in a Bureau investigation, Mr. Queen,” the woman told him in a low voice. “I’d recommend you choose your words very carefully.”

“Can I ask which investigation?”

“Havenrock.” It felt like a punch to the gut, and his knees nearly buckled when she pushed hard at his back to get him moving. He staggered off the dais into the aisle with shock and suspicion boring into him from either side.

Not amongst them was Felicity, and just over the heads of the crowds past the new blinding waves of camera flashes he caught another flash, of blonde, disappearing out a side door that closed with a resounding _bang_. And somehow he knew her retreating back was the last he’d ever see of Felicity Meghan Smoak.

“Keep moving, Queen, she’s not of your concern,” spoke the woman at his back harshly. “You’re all being brought in regardless.”

All of them? John, _Thea_? His heart was hammering somewhere in his throat, and he was at once seized with twin impulses to demand who else she meant and to not make another sound for fear of implicating the others.

He was guilty. Had been, for a long time. He was done pretending he didn’t deserve the penalty of the law for all his actions. It came as a relief almost, like he’d been holding his breath waiting for this very moment. But the others…he’d never meant to drag the others down with him.

What had happened to them? Were they safe? He had to hope they’d gotten away from here, away from _him_ , in time.

\---

No. No, no, no, no, no, not possible, not okay, not _now_. Why _now_? Things had finally been looking up—okay, maybe they weren’t _perfect_ , but Felicity didn’t consider herself _unreasonable_. But Oliver had been sworn in as mayor, the two of them had been spending more time together than ever in the absence of everyone else, and it felt like maybe they could finally move on from it all.

And then she’d read the word off that woman’s lips: _Havenrock_.

It wasn’t _fair_ , Felicity thought furiously as she sped along busy streets, uncaring of any stop lights she passed. They’d did what they had to in order to fight Darhk. _She_ had saved all of Star City and most of the world! Just not one town, one single little town. Those kind of things happened.

It was like Lyla had said; it could’ve been worse. How did the FBI not see that?

What she had to make sure they _also_ didn’t see, of course, was everything else. Oliver was the public face of the team, he always had been, and he was always going to be the first one of them to go down if they ever did. And there was no Roy conveniently around this time to take the prison rap for him. And no one to take the prison rap for Felicity this time, either. She had not wanted to go to prison back in MIT, and she did not want to go now.

She’d have to scrub the base of everything, erase her technological footprint and any and all data she had collected. Her trackers, her cameras, it all had to go to protect herself—and Diggle and Thea, of course, if at all possible. Though if they knew of Oliver’s involvement as Green Arrow, the other former vigilantes would likely not be hard to identify as well. See, this was why she’d always valued her position behind the scenes.

She’d laid out her plan in her mind by the time the elevator descended into the Bunker, and stepped out of the doors—into a room teeming with agents and armed guards.

They seemed to turn as one to look at her. Felicity looked back.

“Uh— _wow_ , what _is_ this place? I just noticed this extra button on the elevator and I thought, ‘huh that’s weird, Oliver never mentioned this basement, I wonder what’s down here’—”

“Cut the crap, Smoak,” barked a severe looking woman with deep-set lines on her face. “We’re well aware of your knowledge of Queen’s nighttime activities, and your interference in the Rubicon crisis.”

She blinked. “Interference? I stopped Rubicon from destroying the _world_. I saved lives! If that missile had hit Monument Point like it was supposed to it would have killed _millions_! I’m pretty sure I did you all a favor.”

“And when did you decide you had the right to decide who lives and who dies, Miss Smoak?” The woman demanded, unmoved by her argument. “When were you entrusted by the American people with the power to protect them? What made you think you could sentence tens of thousands to death and not have to answer for it?”

“It- it wasn’t me. It was Darhk’s fault. _He_ launched the missile.” She wasn’t to blame; she _knew_ that.

“But you ‘did us a favor’ and stepped in, didn’t you,” spoke another man, tall and bearded and swarthy. He reminded her of John, only John had never looked at her with such open loathing and disgust. “You played God. You made the choice. Tell me, do you sleep at night? Or do you imagine you are above us all, that we should thank you for your meddling?”

“You’re not a hero, Smoak,” the older woman continued. “You’re a lawless vigilante. You and your associates have left a trail of murder and destruction in your wake and it ends _now_.”

This was it. She was really going to jail. But Lyla had said—and Felicity had never _murdered_ , not really—it wasn’t supposed to end this way, it wasn’t fair!

A choked sob left her, and she wished more than anything that someone—John, Oliver, Ray, Barry, she didn’t care who—was there to lean against. She felt small and alone and _pitiful_ standing there.

And no sympathy was offered. “So you cry now, for yourself. Do you even know the meaning of remorse?”

“El-Amin, that’s enough,” the woman stated with not even a look in her direction, and so the man fell silent, merely stepping around Felicity to place her in cold handcuffs. She didn’t bother to stop the flow of her tears all the way up in the elevator or on the walk outside to a waiting car.

She did know the meaning of remorse, she wanted to say to that man much, much later, sitting on a small narrow bed in a dark room of concrete and barred window. Felicity deeply, deeply regretted ever meeting Oliver Queen and losing her way.

\---

“Oh god, Ollie,” Thea breathed upon sitting down and taking up the phone. The long months of imprisonment had not treated her brother well so far, it appeared; he was pale and thin, stubble grown out into a dark scruff and hair beginning to hang over his forehead into his eyes. But he smiled at her all the same.

It had taken ages of pleading and cooperation and more pleading to arrange this meeting. Thea had been grabbed in Europe by the CIA, wanted for her time as a bow and arrow-wielding vigilante. She’d been surprised, however, when she was offered leniency in exchange for information and assistance. As usual, there were bigger fish than her to fry.

But it had at least been Thea’s choice to reach out to Malcolm, to meet him in an open square filled with undercover agents and an earpiece hidden beneath her hair. Her father’s look of betrayal had merely glanced off her like an arrow off a shield; how many times had he violated her trust? It had been his freedom or hers, and there had been no hesitation in her decision.

If only she’d been able to extend that leverage to her true family. Oliver was smiling warmly at her through the glass separating them nonetheless. “Hey, Speedy.”

“Yeah, it might be best to retire that nickname permanently.” He nodded with a grimace. “So, how have you been?” She felt obligated to ask despite the physical evidence.

“Never mind me,” he dismissed gruffly, “how are you doing? What’s going on out there?”

“I’m fine. I guess since I was kidnapped during the whole Rubicon crisis they let me off easy. I only had to spend a couple months in a detention center and help them catch Malcolm.” He frowned slightly but she rolled her eyes. “Ollie, I don’t care that he’s my father. He’s drugged me and tried to kill me on multiple occasions. He can rot for all I care. I wanted to work out a deal for you, but—”

He was already shaking his head. “I’m no better than Malcolm, Thea. I deserve to be in here.”

There was a stinging in her eyes that she had to blink back furiously for a moment. They both knew, no matter how much she wished otherwise, he was right.

“Uh, well, Barry and his team got off easy,” she told him instead, trying to lift the mood a little. The FBI had been able to discover the famed speedster’s identity off the information recovered from Felicity’s old servers. “They’ve been forced into compliance with the government, but really they’re just doing what they always have under a special ‘Metahuman Taskforce’.”

Barry had offered his help, practically begged Thea to tell him where she was meeting her brother. He’d said he could phase through the walls to grab him and put him in hiding somewhere. But Thea had been terrified of breaking the secrecy agreement that had allowed her this visit. And she’d known Oliver would’ve never forgiven himself if Barry had given himself up to break him out.

“Captain—I mean, Mr. Lance, they got him too. Since he didn’t sign that affidavit about knowing Laurel’s identity they were able to implicate him in aiding and abetting. They’re still looking for Sara; I guess whenever she gets back from time travelling they’ll grab her and the others.” She thought, as she often did, of Laurel, of the older woman’s protective nature and her fierce love of the people she cared about. It would’ve broken her heart to see what had become of them all now, her family.

“They know about Lance’s heart condition?” Oliver asked, concern clear in his tone.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s in a detention center far away from Star.” Neither of them said what they knew the other was thinking; the older man would likely still spend the rest of his life behind locked doors and high walls.

“They still haven’t told me who else they arrested for Havenrock.”

She heard the inherent question and answered, “Lyla, Digg, and Felicity. They caught Kuttler trying to break his daughter out. I think it was a setup.”

But Oliver didn’t comment on that, instead saying, “Lyla _and_ John? But what about their daughter?”

“She got taken away by Child Services,” Thea revealed, having no other way to soften the blow. “Last I heard Carly was trying to sue for custody, but she’s a single mom already and—Ollie this isn’t your fault.”

For though her brother had bowed his head, she could still see the guilt swimming in his eyes.

“Yes it is. I’m the one who started this mission, who recruited you all to fight with me, against the law. It _killed_ Laurel.” The words sounded as though ripped out of his throat. “And the others are all imprisoned.”

“They wouldn’t be if all the missiles had been stopped,” she said, knuckles clenched white around the phone, her anger bubbling to the surface after months of impotence. “They wouldn’t have cared if we acted on our own if we had saved everyone. They just need someone to blame.”

“Maybe. Maybe it would’ve been Darhk if I hadn’t murdered him.” He didn’t seem concerned with entertaining the what-ifs, leaning forward slightly to look her in the eye. “But I took retribution against him into my own hands, Thea, instead of leaving it up to the law. It was going to catch up to me someday. Who were we kidding?”

That stinging sensation was back, in her eyes and her throat and Thea wished she knew better how to be stoic, like Oliver or Roy. “They said I could only see you this once. That it was too dangerous for me to associate with you.”

“You’re supposed to be rehabilitated, Thea. Spending time with a criminal—”

“I’m spending time with my _brother_ ,” she interrupted fiercely. Thea drew in a deep breath and plowed on. “I wanted to bring you something—candy canes maybe, I don’t know.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” he pointed out with a grin. “Haven’t lost track of the days in here.” The implied _yet_ went unsaid.

“Yeah, well…” she trailed off, unable to argue her point without bringing up the unavoidable fact that they would never spend Christmas together again. No Thanksgiving, no birthdays, not even the everyday. And she searched her mind in vain for those moments they had spent together the last few years, between the fighting and the months-long departures. When was the last time she’d gotten him a gift? When was the last time he’d wished her a happy birthday? She felt sick with the wasted years.

“Thanks for the thought,” her brother said at last, as if reading her mind. Thea tried to give him her best smile.

“Miss?” A guard signaled to her. There was so much more she’d wanted to say.

“I wish we had more time,” she just barely kept from wailing, clutching the phone tighter than ever.

“Me too,” he admitted, a certain sheen to his eyes, and his voice didn’t seem to carry as well as usual as he added, “I’m glad I got to see you one more time.”

“I love you, Ollie,” she said, desperately. There was a hand on her shoulder now, prompting her to wrap things up. Like they thought it should be easy to end the single most important relationship in her life!

Her brother seemed to be struggling to swallow down a very large lump in his throat. “I love you, too,” he spoke, voice hoarse.

“I always will,” she continued. “You’re always gonna be my big brother.”

“Miss—”

“Just give me a _minute_!” She snapped over her shoulder, then fixed her eyes front again. “I’ll never forget you. Just _please_ , Ollie, hang in there.”

“ _Miss_.”

“I know! I know,” she repeated, drawing in a ragged breath. “Ollie—”

Her brother, who’d been watching with an increasingly lost, dismayed expression, cut her off. “Thea. It’s ok. You have to go.”

Her lips pressed tight together, and she couldn’t bring herself to speak. For she knew if she opened her mouth it wouldn’t be words that left it. So she nodded once.

Oliver did, too. Then he placed his free hand on the partition and she was quick to lay hers overtop as well, feeling the cool press of Plexiglas under her palm. “Goodbye, Thea.” He took his hand away—too soon, it was all too soon—and hung up the receiver.

“Ollie,” she whispered brokenly to nobody. The hand on her shoulder was merely concerned with urging her up and out of her seat. Thea glanced back once, catching a glimpse of Oliver slumped in his chair, staring at some point in the middle distance as he swiped a trembling hand across his jaw. She pressed her own hand to her mouth to hold in a cry.

Then the door slammed shut on the last remaining family member she had left.

\---

Thea would not find out until so very many years later, decades after when almost all information concerning the Havenrock Missile Crisis was declassified, why all her efforts to secure a deal for her brother had been in vain. The day after that one and only visit, Oliver Jonas Queen had been found dead in his cell. In lieu of a note, the guards had found a single question:

_“ _How many people can Oliver Queen lose before there is no more Oliver Queen_?”_


End file.
